Daddy's Girl
by Bohemian Storm
Summary: Every father fears for the safety of his daughter. Why would Hermione's be any different? Mr. Granger reflects on four years of Hogwarts and magic.


****

Disclaimer: I don't own the following characters. They belong to J.K. Rowling. The lyrics at the beginning don't belong to me either, they're from the song from "The Wild Thornberrys" (which is an adorable movie, by the way.)

****

Notes: Takes place before OotP

****

Daddy's Girl

__

By Bohemian Storm

__

"Because there never was a father who loved his daughter more than I love you."

Dear Hermione,

Five years. You've grown up so much over the past five words. At first I thought I would hardly be able to stand the thought of you leaving and going to school so far away. You were so small, just a beautiful little eleven year old girl with no experience in magic. Magic wasn't even something we had known about and then suddenly you were going to a school filled with witches and wizards and I was terrified. It wasn't the magic that terrified me, it was knowing that for a full school year you would be gone.

You were still such a little girl filled with such huge ideas. You were always like your mother in that aspect, filled with ways to change the world. I only hope that you make your ideas a reality and that you're not too scared to go further than you had ever imagined. I had hoped with all my heart that going to Hogwarts would give you the strength to do great things. 

You tried to explain to me after that first year that you had already done great things. You had, you explained in a very clear and slow voice, defeated a Dark Lord with the help of your new best friends. And while I didn't know very much about this Dark Lord, my heart swelled to learn that you had friends . . . best friends. You had friends who loved you because you were Hermione Granger, not because you were pretending to be something that was their ideal. 

I had dealt with the first year, but the second was far more terrifying. The idea of a Dark Lord, while something so far removed from our world, was implanted in yours forever. You had gone away for your first year with no threats and came back having survived through a life or death situation. I didn't want you to go back. I wanted to sit you down and tell you in that fatherly voice I know that I possess somewhere that you were only twelve and that you couldn't possibly face that Dark Lord once more and come out alive. I wanted to tell you that you had learned all the magic you'd need to know and that you would stay in London this year.

I couldn't do that to you. I knew yours friends would miss you and I knew you would miss them. So without a word I let you go, knowing that there were so many more words in my heart and on my tongue. But I let my baby go for a second year.

This time you came back filled with stories. You were bubbling and excited and terrified at the same time. I remember the words, those terrifying words that almost made me freeze and die in my tracks.

_Do you know what a Basilisk is, Daddy?_

I was Petrified, Daddy, no not petrified, _Petrified. Oh, Merlin, I have so much to tell you about the year, and if you want to know more I can always lend you my copy of 'Hogwarts, A History'._

A Basilisk? Petrified? I had vowed then and there that I would never let you return to that school. What kind of school let its students get . . . petrified by a giant snake? (I looked up what a Basilisk was after you asked me – I'm the father, I should have all the answers.) You explained in another very clear and very slow voice that the Dark Lord had tried to escape again and that you had almost died. You could have, I know, had you seen the Basilisk's eyes. You didn't tell me that, but I knew after I looked it up.

You could have died.

Yet the time for you to leave for your third year came and I gave you money for a birthday present. I told you to buy yourself a pet. I know how much you always wanted one and the thought of a cat, or an owl like your friends had, calmed me a little. With a pet you would always have someone there, even if it was just a little animal. I knew that your pet would protect you and that your friends would too. I trusted them, even though I'd only met them once and it was very brief.

I worried all year, wringing my hands and wondering why the days seemed to pass so slowly. June seemed light years away, taunting me but never quite letting me get there. I spent nights awake, wondering what would happen to you this year. Something always seemed to happen.

When you got off the train you told me that Crookshanks wasn't any ordinary cat and I had looked at him and silently agreed. I wondered why you had chosen to love that ugly cat with a squashed face, but then you proudly declared that he was a hero. He had saved the life of a convicted murderer who had escaped the Wizarding prison . . . Akazan? Azbakan? Something like that.

And what would I say to that? Oh, it's nice, honey, that your cat saved a murderer. I'm very . . . proud? You must have seen the look on my face because you laughed and tried to explain, still using that clear voice, that he hadn't actually killed anyone, that he had been framed and was really innocent. It was all very complex, you told me, all a very tangled, twisted misunderstanding. 

You talked about Ron much more that summer and more fatherly fears kicked in. I knew why you spoke of him so often, blushing a little when your mother or I pointed it out. You denied it vehemently, of course. It was ridiculous for us to be pointing out that you talked about Ron more than Harry. Of course you didn't talk about him more than Harry. They were both your friends. Your very best friends.

You already loved him, I think, just a little.

I let you go back for your fourth year with a little less fear in my heart. You were so smart, so clever. You knew things that I couldn't even begin to understand. Your smile was so reassuring and I hated for a second that you were the one to reassure me. I should have been quieting your fears, kissing away tears over boys who had called you names or been cruel to you. Instead of those moments, you were smiling at my fondly and calling me 'Daddy' less and just 'Dad', or even worse, 'Father' more and more. And I would never have to worry about boys being cruel to you because Ron, while stupid sometimes, loved you blindly, even at thirteen. I hated him for loving you so early, but even when I hated him I couldn't find it in myself to truly hate him because he made you so very happy. 

I knew you were growing up, but my God, I did not want to accept it. I spent your fourth year pretending that the girl on the train wouldn't be fourteen, but the eleven-year-old that I had said goodbye to so long ago. You would come bouncing into my arms, your hair everywhere, and your smile huge because I was your daddy and you were my girl.

You were different when you came home that June. You were stronger, yet more sad than I had ever seen. A boy had died, you told me, that clear voice still so perfect. You didn't break, didn't waver in the slightest. A boy had died, your friend had almost been killed and that Dark Lord was finally back. Tears shone brightly in your eyes, but you didn't bow your head to my shoulder and cry because you were Hermione Granger and you were strong.

It was that summer that I realized how much I was missing. I didn't get to see you change. I didn't want for you to know death so early on in life, but I wasn't there to see the moment that it had changed you forever. I wasn't there to know when you had fallen so hard for a boy, I wasn't there to see the times that he did make you cry and how passionately you hated him and loved him. I wasn't there to see your first dance (you didn't go with Ron, you told me, he was too stupid to ask), and I wasn't there to glare threateningly at your first date.

I was simply that father figure that you had back home in London. That father figure you thought of rarely and spoke of even less often. I was just that father figure and I hated it, because only a few years ago I was been Daddy.

You left earlier this summer, staying at some house with the Weasleys and Harry when he was allowed to join you. You've left too soon and I'm left with memories of all the past years, my mind wandering toward what might be to come. You're going to see more people die, I know you will, but you're already so strong and so fragile. 

I don't want you to have to watch anyone die. I don't want you to be a fighter in this war that I can feel, but can't see. I want to kiss you goodnight and tuck you in. I don't want you to turn fifteen. I don't want you to grow up and grow away, I want you to live here forever and smile fondly at your old dad. I want to know that you'll be there when I reach for you. I want my daughter to stay alive and, Hermione, I'm so scared that you won't. 

He'll protect you. They both will, but it doesn't stop me from thinking about it some nights and knowing that there is always potential for you to not come off that train in June. There is always the possibility that you'll just be gone and no one will know exactly what happened to you. 

You call us non-magic folk Muggles, don't you? Well, I know that I'm just a useless old Muggle, but I'm still your daddy. I'm still your daddy, Hermione, and I love you. 

Happy fifteenth birthday, baby. Make me proud. Make yourself proud.


End file.
